Family Forever
by Chronic Potterphile
Summary: Because no matter what, they're family, and they will always take care of each other. This is a collection of ficlets and drabbles based on several Sam-centric h/c prompts. GEN. Rated T, mostly for swearing. Spoilers for all episodes, including the ones from season 9.
1. Not This Time

**DISCLAIMER: **Nothing you see here is mine. Just playing with some very pretty people.

**A/N:** So I took up a few prompts over at the ohsam community at LJ and figured I'd put them all in an anthology instead of writing three different one-shots, as they're all hurt/comfort.

Right now, I have three prompts and will work through each, but will take a while since I'm keeping my WIP, Stand Still and Breathe as my priority, and my time is limited. However, I hope to fill this one up with ficlets too.

I will state the prompt at the end of each fic. Apart from the LJ prompts, I will be more than happy to take prompts from you guys too — just drop in a line. :) Keep the prompts gen, please. I plan to keep this gen, as much as I ship Destiel. And the h/c doesn't just to be Sam-centric. Anything you'd like to see with Dean or Cas will do as well. :) I will let you know if there's something I'm uncomfortable with but so far, it's just mpreg that is outside my boundaries.

So… I hope I do well. I've never actually written such fics before. Drop me a review and let me know?

* * *

**About the first one-shot:** This is an LJ prompt, as you know, and it takes place after 8.21 and before 8.22. Castiel is there in this one but it's not Destiel. Just gen. :)

* * *

**Not This Time**

It's just the flu.

That is what Dean would have thought and said to himself in any other situation, but not this time. Sam has been coughing up blood since God-knows-when, he seems to be stumbling into furniture every time he tries to walk and of late, he's had a bitch of a fever as well.

Dean will never forget the particular moment that he found his brother passed out and burning with a fever of a hundred and seven degrees. He will never forget running to find ice, hoping his brother's brain doesn't get cooked, or that Sam doesn't have a seizure. That was enough to last him a lifetime. But he knows that there will be things similar or worse for him and his brother in the future. They're never spared a few moments to breathe and collect themselves.

They find out that Sam has to cure a demon in order to complete the third trial. They can't figure out what it means. Cure a demon of _what_, exactly? It's odd though; Sam seems to be better when there is a goal in view. Mentally. Physically, he still feels like shit, but Dean knows that Sam will never complain or tell Dean about it.

They find Castiel on the way back to the bunker and the angel is injured. A large wound adorns his belly and it trickles blood sporadically. Dean is angrier at Castiel than he is worried, though, and Castiel knows that from the silence that prevails in the Impala while they're driving back. However, he doesn't say anything. He only asks how Sam is feeling, to which Sam replies with an unconvincing 'I'm fine.'

Dean isn't sure why he's angry at Castiel. There seem to be a lot of reasons in his head, some of which hardly make sense, but he settles on the biggest one: that Castiel disappeared on him and Sam with angel tablet and didn't trust them. Didn't trust _Dean_. Oh, he's angry for all the other reasons as well, but this is the prime one.

They reach the bunker and Dean has managed to get some soup into Sam who wasn't hungry, but had to be forced into eating by being threatened with a thermometer that would go right into his mouth if he didn't. The threat was effective and Sam ate up the soup and promptly drifted off on the way back. Castiel, in the meantime, opted for some coffee, and Dean could see he was in pain, but if he knew how to make an angel feel better, he would. Plus, he is still angry at Castiel. So when they're finally at the bunker, Dean calls out just once to Castiel and proceeds to wake Sam up.

Sam is up in a jiffy and he seems to be radiating heat but Dean has to keep his promise, so he doesn't threaten his brother with a thermometer. Instead, he gives him the key and asks him to go in with Castiel while he parks the car. When he finishes everything and enters the bunker, though, neither Sam nor Castiel are in the war room or the library. After a cup of coffee Dean makes his way to his own room to hear snores from the guest bedroom. He knows he should be worried about the fact that Castiel is _sleeping_, but he isn't. The angel will be fine. He sleeps only when he is weakened, but he always manages to bounce back.

Dean then passes by Sam's room after that and peeks in to see his brother sound asleep as well. Relieved, he goes into his room, changes and drifts off into a fitful sleep.

He is woken a couple of hours later to a full bladder and he pads his way to the bathroom to find that it's occupied. When he is about to leave, however, he hears Sam retching up all the soup that he, Dean had managed to get him to eat. He washes a hand down his face and waits silently for his brother to finish and finally Sam comes out, pale and exhausted, ignoring Dean as he stumbles into his own bedroom. Dean quietly gets into the bathroom and takes care of his own business before going back to his room.

He can't sleep. Sam hasn't eaten in days and hasn't kept down the single bowl of soup that Dean coaxed him to eat. Gosh, what the hell is he going to do with the stubborn kid? Sam is over thirty, for fuck's sake, and he's still stubborn as a pouty two-year old. True, the Winchesters have acknowledged that Sam's trial illness cannot be cured by any run-of-the-mill doctor, but that doesn't mean that Sam shouldn't be taking care of himself. And it's not only that — he won't let Dean care for him either.

What is Dean going to do with this kid?

He is awake for a long time. Frustrated, he gets off his bed, throws on a robe and exits the room. The first sight he sees, however, when he gets out, is Castiel doing the same. The angel looks away, knowing how angry Dean is.

Dean grits his teeth and clenches his fist. But then he sees Castiel wince and sighs. "You okay?"

"I've been better," Castiel replies, "the wound should heal—"

He is cut off by a round of hacking coughs from Sam's room. They're loud, wet, and they sound very, very painful. Dean clears his own throat, which seems to hurt with sympathy.

"That sounds bad," Castiel says, concern washing over his features.

"Yeah," Dean agrees, "it's been bad for a while."

"Why don't you—?"

"He won't let me," says Dean, ready with the answer.

"Then ask him to 'stow his crap'," Castiel replies, his hands going up to do the air quotes.

Dean almost smiles, but he remembers how angry he is with Castiel. He turns away, concentrating on the tiles that line the hallway walls. He has never quite noticed their greenish colour, he realises. They run in an alternating pattern and are lined by black. The wall above them is painted green. Was it always like this?

There is silence, and then a rustling. Dean turns around to see Castiel move in his direction and his trenchcoat swishes. For the first time that day, Dean realises how blood-stained it is. He licks his lips to ask Castiel if he needs a change of clothes while he cleans them up, but his thoughts are interrupted again, by Sam coughing.

Dean winces, waits for the fit to stop, but it doesn't. Not for a minute or two. And then he's had enough. "That's it," he mutters, and sees the questioning look on Castiel's blue eyes before opening the door and getting into the room.

Sam is curled under his blankets, his eyes shut and his shoulders shaking as he coughs into the back of his palm. His face is flushed, his hair dishevelled, and he looks like he's in a considerable amount of pain. He turns around for a moment, just a moment, to look at Dean, but then another fit of coughing overtakes him.

Dean seats himself on Sam's bed and places a hand on his shoulder, and is shrugged away a second later, but the coughing fit stops. Castiel is standing awkwardly at the door, unsure if he should interfere.

"Go away," Sam murmurs, turning to Dean once he's been relieved.

"You've gotta—"

"I'm fine."

Dean reaches forward to palm Sam's forehead, but is swatted away. _"Stop it."_

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snaps and somehow, incredibly, Sam does shut up lets Dean feel his forehead.

He is warm. Dean sighs, reaches for the nightstand, takes out the thermometer and gives it to Sam, who reluctantly sticks it under his tongue. It beeps, and reads a hundred and two degrees. Dean licks his lips.

"You hurting anywhere?"

"No."

"Okay, but we gotta lower your temperature. It's high time."

"It's not the flu, Dean. Meds aren't going to work."

"Who said we're trying meds?"

Sam looks confused.

"I know a way to get your temperature down," Dean says to him. "Will you let me help you?"

Sam licks his lips, shivers and clears his throat. "Okay," he whispers, as though he's embarrassed of saying it.

"Good," Dean replies, relieved, "come with me." He turns and makes his way to the bathroom.

Sam pushes back the covers and follows Dean in, where Dean has gone over to the bathtub and plugged the drain. He turns on the hot water tap and Sam stands at the door with Castiel. They listen to the water gush down, tendrils of steam rising from it and clouding the mirror over the basin. Sam frowns at this.

"I'm not taking a warm bath in the middle of the night, Dean."

"It's not a bath," Dean mutters, checking the temperature of the water again and again. "Come here," he says, when the tub has a few inches of water in it.

"What—?"

"Just come."

Sam walks over to Dean, who helps him sit on the edge of the tub so he can dip his feet into the water. Sam hisses at first.

"Too hot?" Dean asks him, placing a hand on the cold water tap.

"No, no, it's fine," says Sam, adjusting himself. "So what is this?"

"It's called the 'cold socks treatment'," says Dean, "figured you'd need something like this when you started to run a temperature, so I searched for some naturopathic flu remedies and found this. I've wanted to try this for a while, but you'd never let me help."

"This isn't the flu. And I'm good on my own."

"I _know_. But you still have fever, cough, headaches and weakness. Counts towards flu symptoms for me. And I'm not questioning your independence. It's never wrong to get help when you need it."

Sam shakes his head exasperatedly. Castiel speaks up suddenly. "Can I be of any assistance?"

Dean raises an eyebrow, turns around and almost ignores him, but then he says, "If you're not too injured, you could warm up some water and mix some honey into it." Castiel seems to be wincing a lot and is more injured than he is letting on and Dean momentarily feels bad, but _Cas will be fine_, won't he? He always is, in the end.

"On it," Castiel replies to Dean, eager to please, and walks out of the bathroom. The other checks his watch again and again, and then five minutes later, he bends over, pulls the plunger on the tub and hands Sam a clean towel. After instructing Sam to pat his feet dry, he goes back to his brother's room and rummages through his drawers to find a pair of cotton socks and another pair of woollen ones. Sam is done drying his feet when Dean is back and the elder brother places the woollen socks on the toilet seat before going over and running cold water on the cotton ones.

He wrings them dry and hands them to Sam. "Wear these."

_"What?"_

"Trust me."

It takes just that for Sam to accept the socks and pull them over his large feet, after which Dean hands him the woollen ones.

Once Sam's feet are covered up, the brothers get back to his room and Sam lies down on his bed. "You're sure this will work?"

"It should," Dean says, "but it's not like we've got many choices, huh?"

"Yeah," agrees Sam, as he pulls up the covers. Castiel shows up then, mug in hand and gives it over to Dean.

"Is this okay?"

Dean looks in, nods at the angel and hands it to Sam. "Drink up. It will help with the cough."

Sam accepts this, drinks it all up in one, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. He coughs once at the end and gives the empty cup back to the brother. "Thanks, man," he says to Castiel, looking at Dean and making eye-gestures for his brother to forgive the angel, but Dean shakes his head. No, he cannot forgive Cas. Not yet. He's had enough with people thinking he's useless.

Dean is more comforted when he returns to bed after that and in the morning, Sam's fever is gone. He hasn't coughed much through the night either. Dean knows that it's temporary, but he's happy that at least Sam has been able to catch a good night's sleep. Castiel is still a little bit in pain, but Dean still finds that he's pissed off at the angel, though he's grateful that Castiel helped the previous night.

He makes breakfast for his brother, who seems more receptive to food and as he watches Sam eat, he realises he hasn't taken care of his brother like this in ages. Not since they were children. Sure, they have contracted a few illnesses here and there through the years, but Dean usually just leaves Sam to himself when he's down with the flu, or food poisoning, or whatever it is. It's normal, it's ordinary, and everybody bounces back, including Sam. But this time, it's different. It's worse. And Dean won't leave his brother to go through it alone.

Not this time.

**The End**

* * *

**A/N: **So how was it? Did I do well? Should I continue posting such stories? Good idea or bad?

Reviews? :)

And the prompt was to write Sam in the bunker with Dean and/or Castiel and the h/c part was old-time flu remedies. It was prompted by ladykorana at the ohsam Triple Play Challenge.


	2. Stupid Kid

**This story contains spoilers to season 9, upto 9.02, Devil May Care.**

**Title:** **Stupid Kid**  
**Rating:** PG 13; for swearing  
**Genre:** Gen, hurt/comfort  
**Characters:** Sam, Dean  
**Word count:** ~1500  
**Summary:** Sam doesn't recover completely from the trial sickness, thanks to him finding out about Ezekiel, and consequently ejecting the angel from his body.  
**Spoilers:** Through to 9.02, Devil May Care  
**Warnings:** strong profanity  
**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. I really wish I did, but nope. Kripke is the one who created them.**

**A/N:** This has been written for strgazr04's prompt at the Triple Play challenge at ohsam on LJ. The prompt has been written down at the end of the story.

Thank you for the response on the previous installment! Hope you guys enjoy this! Reviews will earn cupcakes. :)

* * *

**Stupid Kid**

If Sam didn't act like a pissy bitch all the time, Dean would go ahead and feel his forehead.

Okay, all of the pissy bitch's anger is legit _(how could you let Ezekiel possess me? You tricked me, Dean. You know why I would say no to possession; you know I'd rather die)_. Yeah, of course Sam would rather die. But is he the one who has to live without his brother if that happens? No. So for once, just once, some gratitude _(jeez, thanks for saving my bacon, Dean)_ isn't too much to ask for, is it? Apparently, it is, when it comes to Sam.

So he has ejected Ezekiel from his body – let him go, and poor Zeke is still on the weaker side, but he has regained some health from the symbiosis with Sam so he'll live. But Sam? Dean still remembers what Ezekiel had said the day he possessed Sam – Sam could die if Ezekiel got thrown out of his body. And now Dean is scared – shit scared – that something is going to go horribly wrong. What if Sam starts to cough up blood again? What if he starts bumping into furniture and running high fevers? What if it all leads them both down that same old road?

Case in point: Sam is feeling off today. He has been feeling off for the last few hours, ever since he woke up, and that's why Dean wants to feel his forehead in the first place. No, he can't just go ahead and do that, because ever since the truth about Zeke came out, Sam isn't talking to Dean anymore. It's just painful silence between them, apart from Kevin or Castiel's botched efforts trying to get them to talk. Hell, Crowley has figured out the tension too, and the bastard uses it to his advantage these days and plays around with each Winchester's mind.

But how does Dean know that Sam isn't well? Because he's known the little shit all his life, that's how.

Like, Sam's been yawning and stretching since the moment he stepped out of bed. He does that when he's running a fever. He also refused food, and that's another sign. Or, it could mean that his throat is really sore, but it all adds up to the same thing – Dean's little brother is getting sick.

Normally, Dean wouldn't worry. His Sasquatch of a brother is old enough to take care of himself, especially when it's just a stupid cold or a fever but this time, it might not be that simple. Is it the illness from the trials that's coming back to hit Sam? Dean can't bear to watch his brother go through that again.

Sam, of course doesn't care that Dean worries – the fucker. He just rolls his eyes at any food offered to him and excuses himself at lunch time without having touched his plate. Dean follows him but gets flipped off and a while later, he finds his pest of a brother in bed, snoring into oblivion. So he returns to his own room, determined to keep an eye on Sam.

By evening, Sam is definitely worse. His cheeks are swollen and his face is flushed and sweaty. He smoothes down his bed hair and rubs his eyes with his knuckles and when Dean attempts to talk to him, he just glares and walks away. He barely just nibbles at dinner then, and gets back to bed early. Dean finds that the bottle of Tylenol is missing from the bathroom.'

The next day, something is seriously wrong. Sam's whole face is puffed up, and mostly just around the cheeks, but somehow, it looks very odd. He refuses breakfast and hardly talks. Plus, he walks funny. His legs are slightly spread apart, as though he's preventing his thighs from chaffing against each other... or his legs from chaffing against what's between them. Dean wrinkles his nose at this. These things don't happen when you have the flu... or even trial sickness, or whatever that was. So what's happening to Sam?

It is evening again and Dean is walking past Sam's room, when he catches a glimpse of his brother sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He pauses, sighs, and enters the room without knocking. "Sam?"

Sam looks up, flashes Dean a very swollen bitchface and goes back cradling his head.

"Something wrong?" Dean asks him.

"What's it to you?" comes the raspy reply. "Gonna lie to me about something else, to get me better?"

Dean lets out a thin stream of air. "Okay, smartass, there's no need to be such a bitch about it. I was just trying to keep you alive, all right?"

"You lied to me. You tricked me."

"Yeah, and I said sorry. You can stop acting like a little princess now."

Sam laughs. "That's all you've gotta say? 'Sorry'? Would you forgive me if I'd done it to you instead?"

Dean doesn't have an answer to that. Sam looks up at him and nods. "Exactly."

Then he gets up from the bed and goes over to collect his jacket from the hook behind his door. Dean watches him wear it. "Going somewhere?"

Sam hesitates. "Yeah. The doctor. I'm sick, in case you haven't noticed."

Dean wants to say that he probably noticed it before Sam himself, but he shuts up. Instead, he says, "Why the doctor, then? I don't remember you getting yourself checked out for prissy flu attacks that puff you up for a change."

"It's not the flu," Sam replies, and Dean is about to ask him how he knows that, when he continues, "I uh... I kinda..." he licks his lips, and Dean knows that this can't be good.

"Spit it out," he says.

"I... there's blood in my urine."

**~o~**

"Mumps." Sam has a confused expression on his face as he says it.

"Mumps?" Dean can't believe what he's hearing. "Didn't you get shots for that shit? When you were a baby?"

"You tell me," Sam replies, "did Dad get us immunised?"

"Of course he did," Dean says, "and you cried like a little girl each time."

"I was a kid."

"So was I, but I didn't cry."

"That's because you're a freak," Sam huffs at Dean.

"No, you're a girl."

"Ugly asshole," Sam retorts.

"Bigfoot dork," Dean shoots back.

"Bossy idiot."

"Stupid moron."

"Lying jerk." Sam's voice is a whisper.

"Pissy bitch."

There's silence. Sam looks away, fiddles with his stupid hair and then slumps his shoulders. "You shouldn't have done that, Dean."

Dean bites his lip. "So... why'd you pee blood?" he asks after a while.

Sam mutters something that Dean can't catch, and a blush appears on his pale face. He refuses to repeat what he said, though, so Dean makes a mental reminder to research mumps later on. Then he boldly goes ahead and feels his brother's forehead and is swatted away, but then he's already made out the heat.

"Doc give you any meds?"

"Just Tylenol," Sam shrugs, "it should get better on its own. And I've gotta go get catch-up vaccines."

"Why?"

"I told the doctor that I wasn't sure I received all the shots in my childhood."

"But I just told you—"

"Yeah, I know," Sam replies, "but I think... the trials may have weakened my immune system and reversed all the protective values of my childhood vaccines." He shrugs. "How else could I get mumps?"

Dean tilts his head. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

Later, Dean makes soup for Sam, helps him with the salt water gargles and makes sure he's dosed up properly on Tylenol. He goes shopping for comfort food and sits by Sam at night, keeping a washcloth on his brother's forehead and making sure the fever doesn't climb.

Sam is still pretty bad the next day, but he's going back for his first shot. Dean offers to drive him and Sam agrees. They're still awkward when they talk, but it's better.

In the car, Sam turns to Dean. "Hey... thanks," he says in a low voice.

"For what?"

"For... y'know... last night..." Sam swallows, "for taking care of me."

"No problem."

"I'm still mad at you, though."

"Whatever." And then Dean grins.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I know why you peed blood."

Sam sighs. "Dean..."

"Man, your _balls_ are swollen!" Dean finishes, complete with a mean chortle at the end. "I mean... who even knew you had testicles?"

"Shut up," Sam mutters.

"Swollen balls? Really? How did the infection get from your salivary glands to your balls? If it's what I'm thinking... _yuck_, Sammy."

"Dude, _gross_, that's not how the infection spreads. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"I don't care. Your balls are swollen," Dean sniggers. "If you think I'm ever going to let you live with that..."

"I hate you."

"I know."

Dean glances sideways at Sam, who looks like an angry child, complete with his cheeks all puffed up and chubby, and his bitch-face intact. It doesn't help that they're going to the hospital to get Sam to take shots of all things, and that too because Sam has contracted a _childhood_ illness that questions his immunity.

_Stupid kid_, Dean thinks fondly, realising that Sam will never stop being a child to him. Dean will never stop feeling responsible for his little brother. It's something that Sam will have to live with for the rest of his life, whether he likes it or not.

**The End**

* * *

**Prompt:**

1. MOL Bunker  
2. Dean  
3. Sam gets sicks with a childhood type illness (like chickenpox or something similar) after the trials since his blood was purified. Maybe now he no longer has the antibodies to keep up his immune system?

**Review response:**

Guest - Thank you! Glad you're enjoying this! I will definitely keep going. :)


End file.
